


Blessing In Disguise

by Tudor_Rose



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Christmas, Gen, Homeless Shelter, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tudor_Rose/pseuds/Tudor_Rose
Summary: Homeless at Christmas, Bucky goes to a shelter to spend the night





	

Christmas was a time of joy, merriment and family. It was also a time of hardship and dejection for those who found themselves without a roof over their heads during the winter season.

Sister Rose, one of the nuns who volunteered at the homeless shelter run by the local church stood at the door, gently ushering in the homeless people who had come seeking refuge. Winter was one of the hardest times for those who lived on the streets. Exposure to the elements and scarceness of food meant many did not survive. The shelter provided a means of food and warmth for those poor and destitute. 

Across the street, a man sat huddled on the side of the pavement, his knees drawn up into his chest, his frame only visible from the light of a street lamp. He wore several layers of clothing, dirty and torn. His hair was long, greasy and unwashed, hanging in his face as he curled into himself for warmth. An old baseball cap sat out in front of him. He had been sitting there for hours, pleadingly glancing at those who passed him by. 

His eyes slowly fell upon the gathering crowd across the street, scanning the hardened, weary faces that converged at the shelter, the promise of food, shelter and temporary solace from the piercing cold. He slowly got to his feet, cold air slipping through the holes in the fabric of his tattered sneakers. He moved slowly, hand pocketed and a slope in his shoulder to protect himself from the cold as he slowly melted into the destitute crowd. 

He was use to being unseen, blending into his surroundings. It sometimes helped when his nerves got the better of him, when he needed to move through the city unseen, waiting for the cover of darkness. He moved at a shambled pace with the others, the cold, hungry and hopeless. He couldn't remember his last christmas or any christmas for that matter, but he knew this would be better than another night sleeping in the street, out in the cold with an empty stomach. 

He stepped across the threshold, his feet leaving the hard, cold pavement, his heels squeaking slightly against the floor. Looking around, he saw many like him. 

There were several rows of beds each with a single pillow and blanket. At the foot of the beds, running along the sidewall were tables beside a single door which led to the small kitchen where the meals were served. Volunteers stood behind the counter, dishing bowls of soup to those waiting to be served. Inhaling the smell, his mouth watered. Over the past few months he had survived on what he could find in dumpsters. Sometimes if he was lucky he found a meal, half eaten, freshly discarded. He even recalled an occasion where a woman had seen him sitting on the sidewalk and took pity on him, dropping change into his old baseball cap as well as buying him something to eat.

His stomach rumbled and he wondered if he had to pay for this? Patting his pockets, he sighed dejectedly. He had no money. 

A hand touched his shoulder, causing him to startle.

"Are you alright, sir?" Someone asked. He looked to see a young woman, clad in a plain black dress and shoes. On her head she wore a black veil with a white coif, around her neck was a simple gold chain bearing a crucifix. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he hunched in on himself as he stared down at his battered sneakers.

"Fine."

Sympathetically, she looked at him. She had seen many come through those doors, weary and haunted and he was no different. From the tentative, cautious look in his eyes to the way he carried himself, she could tell he was troubled.

"Are you hungry?" She asked gently and he looked up at her as though he didn't understand such a simple question. During his time with HYDRA his handlers had always seen to his needs, deciding what and when he was fed. It was't until he lived on the streets he soon discovered his body's need for food through the stabbing pains in his stomach. For days, he had ignored it, ignorant as to what it was. His stomach still hurt now, that meant he was hungry, right?

"Yes?" He replied, still slightly unsure. It seemed enough to satisfy her as she smiled at him pleasantly. "This way," she said, jerking her head in the direction of the soup kitchen, motioning for him to follow. He let her lead him to where others were lining up, placing him in line. Keeping her eyes on him, she noticed how uncomfortable he was when someone became too close to him or bumped into him, tensing as though ready to fight. He was clearly anxious.

Once he had been served, she pointed him in the direction of the tables. Sitting down, he stared at his soup, waiting. He was clearly hungry, but he didn't touch his bowl, mentally conditioned to wait until permission was given. His stomach growled loudly as the hunger pains intensified. He looked up over his shoulder to where she stood, eyes pleading.

"Please?" He said quietly, his throat bobbing. 

She was shocked. Here was a grown man, gazing up at her with watery, sad eyes, asking permission to...eat? She didn't know anything about him, but she knew that something terrible had happened to him to make him think he had to wait, hungry, until someone deemed he could eat.

She couldn't do anything other than give him an affirmative nod, forcing herself to remain smiling, despite how his behaviour had made her feel inside. With permission given, he picked up his spoon and began to eat. With a heavy heart, she watched as he ate like a starved animal, hunched over his bowl, afraid someone would come and take it from him. Grabbing the little roll of bread beside his bowl, he dipped it into the soup, shoving it into his mouth, barley having room to chew. 

"When you are finished here, the showers are just through that door," she pointed to a door at the back of the shelter, his gaze lingering up from his bowl. "Afterwards, you will be allocated to a bed."

"Sister Rose!" Another woman's voice called distantly, demanding her attention elsewhere. "Yes, I'll be right there!" She replied. At this time of the year, when the homeless shelters became ever more crowded, there was not a minutes rest. She looked back at the young man, giving him a gentle pat, despite his instinctive tense. "Merry Christmas," she wished him, "and God bless you." Then she was gone, off to see to others who were also in need.

Finishing his meal, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Looking in the direction of the showers, he decided that he needed one. Living on the streets, it wasn't often he had the chance to bathe. There were nights he lay curled up in the back of an alleyway, able to smell himself. The odour of stale sweat, blood and dirt clung to him, making others turn from him in revulsion as well as making his own gut turn.

He went to the shower room to be handed a towel, soap and a fresh pair of underwear. Undressing, he stepped under the warm spray, a relieved gasp escaping his lips. Putting his face under the running water, he combed his fingers through his hair as any dirt or blood was rinsed away. Rubbing the soap over his body, creating a sweet smelling lather, he decided that this was something he defiantly liked, unlike HYDRA, when he had been doused with a power hose of fright water.

He liked getting clean.

It wasn't until the water began to cool he knew it was time to get out. He dried himself off, taking specific care with his arm, patting it dry. He looked at distrain at his own, dirty clothing, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He didn't want to put them back on but they were the only clothes he had so they'd have to do. At least for now he had clean underwear which he was thankful for. Carrying his bundle of clothing, he left the shower room.

"Are you staying the night, sir?" The volunteer who had given him his shower supplies asked, friendly.

He nodded.

"Okay, there is a bed just over by the window," she pointed to an empty bed tucked up along the wall. She looked at the dirty bundle of clothing, "I'll just take these for you," she offered, reaching to take them. He held them tighter, almost protectively. They weren't the best, but they were all he had and he didn't have enough money to buy anything else, not even food.

"They're mine." It was all he could say. He couldn't remember ever having anything to call his own.

"We can wash them for you," she offered. He looked at her, and then down at the dirty heap he held in his arms, considering before holding them out to her. She took them, leaving to put them in the hamper that would be sent to the local laundrette. He went to his bed, pulling back the woollen blanket before getting in, the springs squeaking under his weight. It was a little rickety, the mattress lumpy but it was better than anything he had slept on over the past few months. He looked around to see others preparing for bed, some praying by their bedsides. The lights began to dim above him, the only ones remaining on by the door where the nun, the one who helped him stood, the lights illuminating her.

She cleared her throat, "I would just like to say a few words," she began. Bucky turned his head to listen, despite already feeling sleepy. "To those who found themselves without a roof this Christmas, may God bless you and keep you." He then heard a few voices mutter their thanks as well as their own blessings onto her.

She bid them goodnight as the remaining lights were switched off, leaving the shelter in darkness. Turning on his side, Bucky hugged his pillow, burying his face into it's softness. For the first time in so long, he felt safe. 

It wasn't long before he was asleep.


End file.
